What Ho, Muses!
by KayteaEM
Summary: Drabbles, ficlets, and short one-shots taking place in the Jeeves and Wooster fandom. Basically anything that isn't long enough or polished enough to merit being a stand-alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Cure for the Common Cold

**Prompt: **Sweet

**Fandom: **Jeeves and Wooster

**Word Count: **336

**Warnings: **None

**A/N: **I've recently found myself falling in love with the _Jeeves and Wooster _fandom and had to take a moment to jot this down. Enjoy!

It has always been an axiom of mine – if axiom is the word I'm looking for – that when life gives you lemons you should have Jeeves make lemonade.

But what do you bally well do when life gives you oranges instead?

"I say." I-sayed. Or rather, I gave it the good old Eton try. The Wooster nose was quite stuffed at the m. and I'm sorry to say that my normally dulcet tones had been reduced to a low braying, quite reminiscent of Aunt A.'s battle call, in fact.

"I say." I-sayed-brayed again. "Jeeves! Our kitchen has been invaded by the sweet and the fruity!"

"Indeed sir." I watched as each orange shimmered between his hands and the pitcher, juice accumulating in so many drips and drops. "The nutrients found in the _Citrus sinensis_ have proved beneficial for those suffering from Acute Viral Rhinopharyngitis."

"… The grey matter is feeling a tad lazy today Jeeves." The final orange was sacrificed and its peel abandoned to a dark death within the kitchen's wastebasket. In my feverous state I feared for a moment that I heard the poor blighter calling out to its comrades. Jeeves, ignoring the fruit's plight, strained the whole mixture and handed me the vibrantly colored product.

"It will help with your cold sir."

"Ah." I raised the glass to my lips but paused, the gears upstairs starting to turn.

"You know Jeeves,"

"Undoubtedly sir."

"It's right silly of me to be indulging in this fine concoction alone. After all, aren't colds all social like? The c-whatsit."

"Contagious sir?"

"That's the chappie."

"Indeed sir. It would no doubt be prudent for me to sample the juice as well."

"Too right my man."

He summoned another glass, in a manner withheld from us mere mortals, and I split the drink between us.

"Over the teeth, and past the gums, look out stomach – here it comes!"

"As you say sir. To your good health."

We clinked our glasses in a most comradely fashion and drank the sweetness down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **The Wonderful World of Wooster Fashion

**Prompt: **Shorts

**Fandom: **Jeeves and Wooster

**Warnings**: None

**Word Count: **2,178

"Let me see if I understand what's cooking in that fish-fed brain of your Jeeves: you believe that this fine example of the lower limbs' apparel is in fact _not _suited for the young master's wardrobe?"

Jeeves eyed my green flannel trousers with a rummy expression, as if he feared the innocent things might suddenly leap forth, strangle his employer, and proceed to execute warm and fuzzy world domination.

"Well sir…"

"Don't you 'well sir' me Jeeves! I'll have no more of your – your - … whatever that phrase is! You say one thing and mean another!"

"I believe you are referring to the French figure of speech known as a double entendre sir."

"_Yes. _Come now Jeeves, speak plainly!" In my forcefulness I shook the pants in his general direction and watched, fascinated, as he scampered back. Let it be known that along with understanding that most bewildering stuff about the psychology of the individual and being able to make a smashing omelet, my man is also fleet of foot.

"No sir." Out of the Terrible Trouser's reach he straightened with great dignity. Feudal spirit poured gamely into the room. "I do not believe those are a fit… garment for a gentleman of your standing."

"Pshaw!"

"Sir?"

"I said 'pshaw!' Jeeves. Now see here, the Woosters of old were known for being great judges of character and the last of their line is no exception. YouJeeves are jealous!"

His left eyebrow ticked and I knew I had succeeded in shocking him. Poor man, no doubt having his secret revealed was bally distressing, but it simply had to be done…

"Yes Jeeves you are _jealous_. It is the only explanation. For years you have gazed upon your dashing young master, no doubt taking note of how the finest of England's fashions drape exquisitely across his willowy frame. But you – ah you Jeeves! –you are forever confined to the blacks and whites of the valet, never able to sample what the world of textiles has to offer. It is a difficult existence, but one for which Bertram Wilberforce Wooster has no little sympathy. Therefore I have k. the grey matter into high g. and have discovered the solution hiding under the bed of obviousness: we shall share Jeeves!"

I must say that despite my moving speech the Jeevian expression looked less like he'd been pulled from the soup and more like the chef had added salt, pepper, a snip of basil, and concluded his work by cranking up the gas. That is, if the chap had gas and not the lovely little electric thing Jeeves uses.

All of that is to say that my man's face remained rummy. Reader, comrades, ancient blood relations, there is only one thing to be done in such situations.

Forward march!

"I say Jeeves it is a most ingenious Wooster plan." I said, marching the before mentioned plan forward. Despite the continuous twitching of the left brow I might add. "Your obvious desire to get cozy with my wardrobe has brought out a destructive streak that simply _will not do_. Now, I propose that you wear, sample, test, attire, clothe, deck, and decorate to your heart's content, provided it is on your days off and all articles return to our currently Aunt free bachelor pad. That said, with love from my own bosom I present to you my crowning jewel, _these._"

I attempted to hand him the pants with all the solemn-ness of those Greek fellows giving their Trojan chappies a horse. Or did the Trojans do the gifting? Jeeves would know, but I certainly wasn't asking him about it now.

For a m. he seemed to shrink further away but then the most topping thing happened, suddenly his expression went from positively soupy to all chocolaty with the topping portion being one of those mara-whatsit cherries. It was a glorious sight to behold, as my man suddenly tore the pants from my hands and began folding them in his efficient, crispy fashion.

"As you say sir. If I may be so bold, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that it is indeed my night off tonight. Might I be permitted to… wear these… ah, _unique _trousers to the Junior Ganymede Club?"

"Indeed you can Jeeves! You will be the talk of the town!"

The hands cradling my pants trembled. "I do not doubt it sir."

Then as quickly as he came Jeeves was shimmering off, ready to make his mark in the World of Wooster Fashion.

* * *

><p>It was no fun hanging around the old homestead when Jeeves wasn't about so I strolled off to the club for a bit of bread tossing and a spot of b. and s. It was quite late when I bid my fellow Drones farewell so I wasn't entirely surprised to find my man back and standing just inside the door, ready to expertly swipe the hat off the noggin.<p>

"Good evening sir. I trust your outing was satisfactory?"

"Oh quite Jeeves, quite. Did you know, Gussie was telling the most entertaining tale about a bicycle and three large yams …" I admit that my own thrilling narrative ceased as my eyes caught sight of what was behind Jeeves. Draped across the armchair were my formerly spiffy trousers, now looking as if some ghoulish fined had come along and drained every last drop of spiff. The bottoms were in complete tatters, everything below the knees dangling like Anatole's famed noodles after they'd been properly boiled and pulled from the pot.

"I say Jeeves. I _say._" Feeling a tad woozy I sat myself down in the mentioned chair and lightly touched the strands. "What happened?"

He coughed and I turned to find his stuffed frog expression settling in place. "I'm afraid sir that there was an incident involving several barbarous felines. They were quite violent and, as you can see, did no little damage to your trousers."

"My word, you were attacked by cats?"

"Yes sir, a most traumatizing experience. However I assure you, if I am not yet better I shall be so directly."

"They just… attacked you? All willy nilly like?"

"Indeed sir."

"But… but… what about your legs Jeeves?" I suddenly bent at the waist and tried to get a look at the potentially mangled limbs. The grey matter was summoning terrible images involving long gashes and mini vampire bites. However, I had not yet touched the fabric before Jeeves pulled away.

"I assure you sir I am unharmed. The cats did no damage to me. Flannel, it seems, provides adequate padding when necessary."

I stared at the fabric, trying to picture it protecting Jeeves against the ferocious attack of a clowder. Now, I may not dine on the fruits of the sea as Jeeves does, but you'd still be hard pressed to get one past Bertie Wooster and I would swear on Aunt A's waiting grave that something just didn't add up. And yet, I knew this wasn't the time to draw attention to my Holmesian deductions.

"I see Jeeves. Well, it's a good thing you're okay."

"It's kind of you to say so sir."

"After all, they must have been beasts to do such damage. Why, it almost looks as if a pair of scissors was taken to them!"

"Do you think so sir?"

"Yes, yes. And attacking you clear out of the blue, on the one night you were wearing my pants no less! Dashed shame."

"Indeed sir. Most unfortunate."

"You must be so upset that your journey into the stylish world of fashion ended so abruptly."

"Devastated sir."

I tried to stare Jeeves down but he was having none of it. That frogy expression was fixed and firm. After a stretch of the most uncomfortable silence he coughed and held out a hand. "Shall I dispose of them for you sir?"

"Oh no Jeeves." I waved him away, gathering the remains in my arms. "After all, this was a singular purchase. No more of these around I'm afraid. I think I'll just keep them as a thingamajig. A remembrance what."

"As you say sir." That rummy expression had oozed back into his face but nevertheless he let me take them. "Will you be requiring anything else?"

"No, no. Jeeves but… well, you bally well didn't like them much did you?"

He hesitated just a moment and then nodded forcefully. "No sir I did not. They are a most unsuitable pair of pants for a man of your character."

"Ah. Well perhaps you're right Jeeves. After all, you have yet to lead the young master astray!"

"It's kind of you to say so sir."

"A most rummy set of pants."

"Indeed sir."

"Yes. Yes well… yes. Dismissed Jeeves."

"Very good sir."

Life proceeded in much its normal manner after that. I tucked my poor trousers into the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and Jeeves tucked me into bed. Now dear reader, you may be thinking that that is that is that! "But Bertie" you say, "Jeeves has won! He was never jealous of your dapper fashion sense and instead of bowing to your wisdom he succeeded in destroying another wearable work of art! What more is there to tell?" Well, I say to you that this young master is not to be trifled with! Two nights later, while Jeeves was buying this and that at the market, I snuck sneakily into the kitchen. Feeling like one of those dashing young heroes from my novels I found the scissors in the left hand drawer – no doubt the same beastie used to destroy my trousers. But Bertram Wooster is not a man to admit defeat. As Jeeves shopped for all the fish his brain could want I tiptoed back to my room to make better use of those scissors.

* * *

><p>A week later I hauled the Wooster corpus out of bed, gave Ducky a detailed telling of my dreams, and then deliberately threw aside the suit Jeeves had laid out for me. Well, I didn't actually throw the thing. Jeeves would have been as cross as that Jesus fellow's accessory if I had. But I did place them all gentle like over the chair and instead pulled out my re-spiffified legwear.<p>

Gathering courage from the ancestors of old, I stepped out into the parlor.

"What ho, what ho, what ho Jeeves!"

He was dusting those wavy drapes and as he turned – no doubt to answer my most high-spirited greeting – Jeeves for the first and only time committed that Thing Which Valets Must Not Do.

He dropped something.

We both watched as the feather dusted floated evilly to the floor.

"Well… jolly good it wasn't a tea cup what!"

"Sir…" The Jeevesian eyes were very, very round. "_What _are you wearing?"

"Oh this?" I turned a bit as I'd seen females do when they'd bought new dresses or coats or shoes or… whatever else it is that females buy. "Why, it's just a little thingymajob I threw together, having rescued my trousers like the knights of old. Well, not so much trousers now are they?"

I turned a bit more to show off my shorts, cut from the pants Jeeves had barbarically mutilated.

"I realize it's not really the thing over here but Bingo says they're popular in the U. S. of A. Take note Jeeves! Shorts are no longer just for the lads, us gentlemen can pull them off with all the swag and style they deserve. Now, it's a chipper day what. The sun is doing sunny things, the birds are doing birdy things, and Bertie will be doing Bertie things – one of which is showing off his new shorts to the whole of the Drones club!"

I made towards the door but Jeeves called out at the last m.

"Sir! Sir… you can't… you just _can't_…" My dear reader, it would be blasted difficult to say which Jeeves was eyeing with more horror: the shorts themselves or the legs they were failing to cover.

"Ah Jeeves Jeeves Jeeves. Have we forgotten who's the master here? Of course I can! Besides, you already agreed to these!"

"Sir I _never_ –"

"I do believe, Jeeves old fellow, that your exact words were: 'they are a most unsuitable pair of _pants_.' So I turned them into shorts!"

"Sir-"

"And what was it that writer said? The be or not be or maybe be chap. Ah! I recall: 'all is fair in love and war,' right Jeeves?"

"It was actually Smedley sir…"

"But he was right wasn't he? Be truthful now Jeeves."

My man looked like the stuffed frog had jumped from his face and hip-hopped down his throat. But he eventually straightened the spine, bared the teeth and said with as much feudal spirit as I have ever seen: "_Indeed _sir."

"Well that settles it. Pip pip!"

Thus I strolled out, my head held high and cheeks aglow with the knowledge that Bertie Wooster had not one, not two, but three upped his man and the reward was the real bee's knees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **The Hand That Feeds

**Prompt: **Lick

**Fandom: **Jeeves and Wooster

**Word Count: **1,868

**Warnings: **Could be read as pre-slash or just a very intimate relationship between master and servant. Whatever floats your boat. :)

* * *

><p>"Sir that is… quite unsanitary."<p>

I looked up with a start to find that Jeeves had shimmered most unexpectedly into the room. I was about to let out a hearty 'what ho!' to the chappie but then realized that the Wooster index finger was still resting happily within the Wooster mouth. The icing however, that had originally been a part of the wonderfully mixed company, had beat a hasty toodle pip and thus I removed the digit without further delay.

"What ho, Jeeves!" Let the aunts of the world never say that I don't follow through with my intentions. I set out to greet my man and did just that! However, a word of warning to the determined: the perseverance required to complete one's actions can often result in a lapse of other observational traits. What I mean to say is, I was so focused on welcoming Jeeves that it took me a moment longer than is the u. to notice his rather rummy expression. I pride myself on reading Jeeves like he reads those massive books of his, and one moment longer was one moment _too_ long.

"I say Jeeves! I maintain my 'what ho' and all that but why the rummy expression?"

"Greetings to you too sir. I was merely commenting that there are more sanitary ways to consume your chocolate cake than with your finger."

I looked at the accused digit but it seemed perfectly clean to me.

"Really Jeeves?"

"Indeed sir. Shall I procure a plate and fork for you?"

That was certainly a sensible suggestion. Some might even say inspired. But for some reason I wanted a fork and plate about as much as one wants cold tea in the morning. Or cold tea at anytime really. You see… well, you'd see better if I'd started my tale in a more appropriate spot, what? Here I've gone, starting things _in medius res _as the saying goes, so perhaps I should back up a step. Or two. Or maybe even three.

_You see, _a few hours back I'd been strolling about and had wandered most unintentionally into a massacre. You must be wondering right about now what I mean by 'wandering into a massacre.' Well, it just so happens that this massacre took place in no other spot then the Drones Club. And it was a massacre in a whatsit sense. There's a word for this, starts with 'fig' though I'm sure the word isn't as tasty as a real fig. Words generally aren't. Well! Regardless, it was not in a literal sense. Whatever word means that. There wasn't _really_ a massacre going on it just might seem that way to those with a whale of a vocabulary. Like Jeeves, poet chappies and, other people like Jeeves. Maybe his father. The man had to have gotten his grey matter from somewhere.

Anyway! I knew something was up the moment my toes crossed that threshold and rolls didn't fly. It turned out that the Drones had started an impromptu darts tournament and poor Tuppy was being massacred by someone who's name I don't remember. Although, I suppose that's a good a name as any. Mr. Name I Don't Remember recently joined our little nest and it turns out the chap is a real whiz at the board and flying shafts. If your high top machinery is as well oiled as mine perhaps you too wondered why Tuppy would suffer such indignities. We're not a set of blighters or some such but even the most gentlemanly of gentlemen can start lifting the chin and puffing the chest when he's winning so spectacularly. One has to question – and indeed I did – why Tuppy would continue when he was losing about as badly as one can lose.

If you're all Sherlock Holmes like you may have realized by now that there must have been a prize involved. If you deduced such a thing then I salute you! There was indeed a prize, though I doubt even the detective himself could have guessed just how wonderful and bright a thing it was:

A slice of Anatole's crème de menthe chocolate cake.

How such a decadent thing made its way out of Brinkley Court without immediate consumption is a question only the gods can answer. _Why _such a thing was allowed to occur is perhaps something that will never be explained. All I knew was that the how and the why weren't important. A slice of heaven had fallen at my feet and this Wooster was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth or in any other orifice.

Well, any of you readers familiar with my other scribbles will know that I'm no slouch when it comes to darts. I'm not a mean chap and whatnot so I'll just skim the surface of that humiliating moment. Let it simply be known that Mr. Name I Don't Remember never stood a chance or even half a chance. That afternoon I stood tall like that Caesar bloke and I followed his advice too –

I came, I saw, I conquered real top hole like.

And let me tell you that I beat it back to the flat as fast as these two feet could fly. When one has a slice of Anatole's crème de menthe chocolate cake one simply doesn't linger. Who knows what might become of you.

So like a true sleuth I snuck into the room, slinked into my favorite chair, and did other s-like things before I'd settled. Popping the white lid that contained my prize I realized that this wasn't the time for forks and plates. These sorts of things had to be dealt with quickly, lest the opportunity slip away like so many whatsits. So without further ado I let my finger do the work and dug in.

That's how Jeeves found me.

"Sir?"

"I say, Jeeves. Normally a fork and plate would be a topping idea but I'm finding this way of eating to be quite enjoyable. A unique cake deserves a unique method of consumption, what? Besides, it reminds your young master of his childhood. I ate many the slice of cake with palm and fingers in my day you know."

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear that sir."

I went to dip my fingers back into the box but stopped at Jeeves's pained expression. The poor man looked as if I'd not only given him the knife but twisted it to and fro.

"Sir… it really is unsuitable for a gentleman of your station to eat in such a manner."

"Oh posh Jeeves! It's only you and me here."

"You also risk dirtying your clothes sir, specifically your new silk tie."

I went to finger said tie but then recalled that the fingers weren't clean. "Well I'll be extra careful and all that. And I have every faith that if anything does get stained you'll know how to remove it!"

"Thank you sir. However I would like to point out once more that this is still an unsanitary way of consuming your dessert."

Once again I stopped with my hand halfway towards paradise, suddenly thinking that this must have been what that Eve girl felt like. One bite of apple and then nada. I sighed, most put out.

"Jeeves, are you suggesting that your young master is dirty? The insult to my person aside, I believe that is even more of an insult to your abilities as a valet!"

"Certainly not sir." He drew himself up to his full, very impressive height. I imagined that giraffes everywhere hung their heads in shame. "I merely wish to point out that you were assaulted most violently by Miss Allen earlier this morning."

I shuddered, recalling the horrendous event. Aunt Agatha had brought another of her she-devils to the flat at an absurd hour and the Jane had spent the entirety of breakfast hanging on my arm, grasping my hands, and generally wrapping herself around my corpus like some anaconda in heels. A dashed unpleasant way to wake up, a man simply can't enjoy his eggs and b. under such conditions. It's why I headed towards the club in the first place. To escape aunts and she-devils that is.

"Oh I recall Jeeves, I recall! But what does such trauma have to do with me enjoying my cake?"

"Only that I didn't think you'd want to handle your food with hands that had been… sullied, so recently sir."

I recalled Miss Allen palming me and suddenly the idea of cake-by-hand didn't seem quite so smashing. I felt a bit upset in the tummy if I'm all honest with you. I wiped my hand against the arm of the chair and by jove I wasn't subtle about it.

"My word Jeeves, you're absolutely right! As always of course."

"Why thank you sir."

"We don't know where that woman has been!"

"Indeed sir."

"Well, what utter rot. I suppose you'd better fetch that fork and plate after all. I must say though, what a dashed boring way to eat cake."

I must admit that at this point I was very disappointed. I enjoy routine as much as the next chap but when I do decide to change things up a tad I want things to follow through. The Wooster heart had set itself on eating dessert in a whimsical manner and a dame had torn that chance away.

Looking up I expected to see Jeeves biffing off or possibly having returned already. Instead he was just standing there, his lips slightly puckered. Now for those of you who can't read Jeeves as I do you – which, I am admittedly proud to say, is all of you - should know that this was an indication of Very Deep Thought.

"Jeeves?"

His gaze rested on my cake, still nestled in its little box. His lips puckered a bit more.

"I say Jeeves, if you want some just say the word! You can have the half untouched by the tainted finger."

To my great relief the pucker pulled inwards and smoothed with just the barest hint of lifting upwards: a Jeevesian smile.

"You are very generous sir. However, I had something else in mind." Stepping forward he knelt beside the chair and reached for my cake. "If I may sir?"

I handed it over immediately. One simply doesn't question a direct request from Jeeves, not even when it involves handing over a baked good of Anatole's. My faith was not misplaced, for to my everlasting shock he dipped his own hands into the box and carefully broke off a piece. Keeping one hand underneath so as not to make a mess and all that, he lifted the piece of cake to me.

"Why Jeeves," I breathed "what a perfectly wonderful solution!"

"I thought so sir."

"And you don't mind?"

"Not at all sir."

"Well then!" Without a moment wasted I took the morsel from my man's hand, feeling every bit both the daring rogue and the pampered prince.

"Absolutely topping! Jeeves, you are a wonder to behold."

Breaking off a second piece, another Jeevesian smile surfaced from his stuffed froggy expression.

"Thank you sir. I endeavor to give satisfaction."


End file.
